


Adiabatic

by Artifactrix



Category: The Young Protectors (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, Queer Gen, Spooky Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifactrix/pseuds/Artifactrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle has some issues with heat transfer.  Spooky thinks Kyle just needs to chill.  Systems are always more efficient in theory than in practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adiabatic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslyfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/gifts).



> Dear curiouslyfic,
> 
> Happy Yuletide! I tried SO HARD, but alas, I did not achieve porn in this piece. They just wouldn't stop talking. :/
> 
> In thermodynamics, an adiabatic process is one in which there is no exchange of heat or matter between the system and its surroundings.

It's a quiet Thursday afternoon at Young Protectors HQ, and most of the team is out and about, doing ordinary things of the sort that even superheroes do. In the common room, Kyle and Spooky sit in companionable silence, as the only people in a too-empty house are wont to do. Or rather, Spooky's sitting at one end of the couch, playing with his phone, and Kyle's hunched at the other end, oblivious to Spooky's presence and making increasingly frustrated huffing noises over an array of schoolwork spread out on the coffee table.

He's been at it for three hours so far today that Spooky knows of, and practically every spare minute for the past week. As far as Spooky can tell, the point of diminishing returns was at least an hour ago, but Kyle shows no signs of stopping, despite his obvious exhaustion. In Spooky's opinion, it's high time for an enforced study break.

It only takes a moment to pull up the page he wants. Spooky breaks the silence with a laugh, calculatedly spontaneous, and Kyle glances up for a moment, startled, before going straight back to his notes. Not to be deterred, Spooky tries again.

“Hey, Kyle, you gotta check this out!” Spooky enthuses. He scoots over to Kyle's end of the couch and shoves his phone into Kyle's field of vision.

“What?” Kyle looks up from his textbook in irritation. “C'mon, Spooks, I'm studying. Unless that's the secret key to understanding the mysteries of the Carnot cycle, it can wait until after the exam.”

“C'mon yourself, man. You've totally got this, you've been studying all week. A five minute study break is not going to make or break your Thermo grade.”

Kyle sighs and sits up, rolling his shoulders. Something in his neck crunches, and Spooky winces on Kyle's behalf.

“Fine, what is it?”

Spooky sits back and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, far away from Kyle's notes. Tempting as it is, he knows better.

“So I'm sure you remember that fansite, right?”

Kyle groans.

“Spooky. The actual _last_ thing I need right now is porn.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Spooky assures him. “ _This_ porn, you need to see.”

“...is it, like, _actual_ porn?”

Spooky raises an eyebrow.

“I don't know what you're into, man, but I'd say porn doesn't get more _actual_ than wall-to-wall dicks, cartoon or otherwise.”

Kyle blushes, and scrubs a hand across his face.

“I mean, is it _sexy_? Like, are we talking 'awkwardly personal but hilarious' here, or 'might actually make me set my homework on fire— _again_?' Because I'm fine with comedy, but I need these notes.”

Spooky smirks.

“Oh, it's pretty spicy, but if it was _that_ hot, I wouldn't still be sitting here. I promise I won't show you anything racy enough to make you spontaneously combust, OK? I just want you to know that I was totally right about shower scenes being classic—”

Spooky holds up his phone and gestures at the screen, a ' _ta da!_ ' motion accompanied by a shower of golden-green sparks.

“—and somebody on the internet _totally agrees with me_ about Commander being secretly into it. And by 'secretly into it,' I mean 'shiny red strapon.'”

Kyle squints, focusing on the little screen, and then his eyes widen, and he bursts into startled laughter.

“Holy shit. I—oh my god. Put it away, once is enough, I already can't unsee it and _she reads minds, you asshole._ ”

“I think our fearless leader knows better than to read any of our minds,” Spooky says, but he's already taking the phone away. “Ignorance is bliss.”

He peers at the screen again.

“Jeez, though. Way to buy into gross kyriarchal stereotypes about power and sexuality.”

He's trying to get a rise out of Kyle, but Kyle just shakes his head and picks up his textbook again.

“I don't even know what you're talking about, Spooks.”

“I'm talking about the cultural idea that having a big dick makes you powerful, and the bigger your dick is and the more places you stick it, the more powerful you are. Your pseudonymous admirer 'number1redhotfan' here has fallen into the trap of assuming that because Amanda's in charge, she needs a big ol' dick of some sort. Which, for the record, no, that is not how it works at all. In my experience, the only correlation between what a person does—or doesn't do—with their junk and the content of their character is that if they put it where it's not wanted, they're a shitty person.”

An awkward moment passes in silence while Kyle stares fixedly at a diagram. Finally, he breaks it by sighing and shaking his head.

“I can't deal with this discussion right now,” he says, eyes still on his book.

“Sorry, that wasn't supposed to get heavy, but then it did. My bad. Let's talk about something else.”

Kyle rakes his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“I can't actually talk right now, period. I have less than twenty-four hours to finish studying for this, and it's like forty percent of my semester grade, so—”

“That is exactly why you need to talk right now. Or eat a sandwich, or go for a run, or _something_ , because you're stressing yourself out, and all you're accomplishing is winding yourself up. You can't focus like this.”

“But—”

“I've seen you doing your problem sets. You've got this. Seriously, go jerk off, relieve some tension.”

Spooky's not expecting the tongues of flame that accompany Kyle's flush, and he jumps. The flames are gone as swiftly as they came, but the color in Kyle's cheeks stays.

“I _can't_. Remember when I said that _terrible things happen when I have sex_?”

Spooky gapes at him, taken totally aback.

“Holy shit, not even...? I told you, you're not cursed—”

“ _I set things on fire_.”

“Oh. Oh, shit, I though you were _joking_ before, I didn't mean to—”

“It's fine,” Kyle says. From his tone, it's abundantly clear that what he actually means is _shut up_ , and for a few minutes, Spooky restrains himself. Eventually, though, his impulse to help wins out.

“Have you ever tried it in the shower?”

Kyle looks up again, finally, and blinks.

“Tried what?”

“You know—” Spooky waggles his eyebrows and makes an unmistakable hand gesture over his lap. Kyle blushes crimson.

“ _No,_ ” he says.

“Why the heck not? Nothing to set on fire. Instant sauna. I'm telling you, give it a shot. Burn off a little stress before your exam.”

Another awkward moment elapses while Kyle visibly considers this. For a moment, Spooky thinks he might actually go for it, but then Kyle sighs and shakes his head.

“I can't deal with this right now,” he says, and pushes himself up off the couch, heading for the kitchen. Disappointing, Spooky thinks, but hey—at least he got Kyle to take a break.

Just in case, though, he pays a quick visit to the showers. Fireproofing spells are easy, especially on stuff that isn't really flammable in the first place. Better safe than sorry.

 

* * *

 

Kyle comes home from class on Friday looking exhausted but satisfied.

“How'd it go?” Paul asks, when Kyle flops down on the couch.

“I... I think I did okay? Professor Waterville is a total hardass, and her exam questions are _weird_ , so I don't really know for sure... But I think I did okay.”

“And hey, at least it's over, right?”

“If by 'over', you mean, 'final grades won't be posted for a week', then sure, let's go with that.”

“Maybe you should try doing something to take your mind off it,” Spooky suggests in passing, because he can't help himself. Paul doesn't see the grin and the eyebrow waggle that accompany the suggestion, so Kyle's embarrassed scowl at Spooky catches him by surprise.

“Don't be a dick, Spooky,” Kyle says sharply, and Paul blinks at him in confusion.

“Take it easy,” he says, but Kyle's already leaning back on the couch with a sigh and changing the subject, so he lets it pass.

“Like, I want to apply to some stretch schools, but I feel like that kind of maybe gets into the luck zone, and I don't want to go there, you know?” Paul is saying as Spooky leaves the room. Kyle's answer is inaudible, but at least it sounds encouraging. Kyle opted for Metropolitan State, just down the road, because he didn't want to leave the team; Paul wants to go somewhere farther away. Kyle will miss Paul when he goes, but he's been unfailingly supportive throughout Paul's exploration of the ethics of applying for colleges and competitive scholarships with his particular... advantage? Disadvantage? Therein lies the conundrum.

Spooky smiles and leaves them to it, letting himself out the back door. It'll be dark soon; the moon is waning, and there are monsters that need banishing tonight.

  

* * *

 

Spooky gets back in the wee hours of the morning, splattered with two kinds of ichor and a phosphorescent sputum that clings to his coat in slimy strands despite all the spells of protection and imperviousness he's enchanted it with. He strips in the ready room, unloading his pockets carefully and piling his clothes in a hamper to be magically cleansed. He's exhausted, running on autopilot, and he's halfway to the showers when he realizes that the water's already on, and there's more steam than usual billowing out the door. He readies a spell, and he's about to call out a warning when he hears Kyle's voice echoing oddly off the tile.

“You can come in, I'm not... doing anything.”

When Spooky steps cautiously into the room, he finds that Kyle is, in fact, not doing much of anything, just sitting under a running shower and blazing away.

“Jerking off didn't work out so hot, but the instant sauna was a good idea,” Kyle says, after a moment. “Call it a consolation prize.”

Spooky blinks.

“Didn't work?”

“I thought it was going to be okay, but then I couldn't get past the years of repression. Like, I try to think sexy thoughts, and all I've got is my kid sister in the burn ward.” Kyle sees the look on Spooky's face and winces. “Did I ever tell you how I discovered my powers?”

“There was a house fire, right? Bad luck, but not your fault.”

“It's not about _fault,_ it's about _consequences_. I burned the house to the ground and scarred my sister for life. Guess what else I discovered that day, about a minute earlier?” 

It takes a moment for the penny to drop, but when it does, Spooky's dismay is profound.

“Aw, shit. That's terrible. I'm sorry, I thought—I just assumed it was the logistics.”

“It's okay,” Kyle says, and looks away. 

It's plainly obvious that it's not okay, but Kyle doesn't really look angry. He looks disappointed, and defeated—basically the opposite of relaxed and happy. Not at all what Spooky was aiming for _. Way to be helpful, Jones_ , he tells himself. _Fix this_.

“Tell you what,” Spooky says. “Let me just scrub off this mess, and then let's talk, 'kay?”

“Sure,” Kyle says. He sounds like he's somewhere between dubious and embarrassed, and not much like he actually wants to. Spooky can't really blame him. But he stays put while Spooky washes up with a cleansing potion that burns away the traces of gore and ectoplasm. The steam feels great after the cold, dry night air, and it even soothes the lingering chill of the potion. 

“It's no big deal,” Kyle says, when Spooky thanks him. As if to illustrate how not-big of a deal it is, he kicks the flames up a notch, and the steam gets heavier, until Kyle's nearly hidden by it. The dismissal couldn't be clearer, so Spooky lets him hide and finishes his shower, this time with regular soap.

“You wanna talk this out here, or somewhere else?” Spooky asks, when he's finished.

“Not here,” Kyle says. “And no offense, but I'd like to put on pants first.”

“Sure thing,” Spooky says, and offers him a hand up. Kyle extinguishes himself and lets Spooky haul him to his feet.

They towel off and improvise pajamas out of the contents of their respective lockers, and walk through the dark house in silence. By wordless consent, they end up in Kyle's room; the common room feels huge and empty, too quiet and exposed, and Spooky's room is too full of what he freely admits is objectively weird shit to be comfortable for Kyle. Kyle sits at the head of his bed, against the pillows; Spooky sits cross-legged at the foot, Nomex bedsheets shifting oddly under his butt. The bedside lamp is on, but after the bright lights of the locker room, it seems almost dark. It's weirdly cozy to be sitting there in their boxers, freshly showered; it's like the world's most awkward slumber party. Kyle shifts uncomfortably, rearranging his pillows, distracting himself. Spooky waits him out, until finally he looks up and sighs.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.

“So here's the thing,” Spooky says, not looking at Kyle, just speaking into the air. It's easier that way. “I came back from Hell with no idea who I used to be, and that included whatever the fuck I might have understood about sexuality at thirteen. All I had to go on in the sex department was memories from Hell. Some of that was frankly horrifying and awful shit, and some of it was stuff I remembered liking at the time—not necessarily voluntarily, but not necessarily _not_ voluntarily, and isn't that a mindfuck?—and horrifying shit and stuff I had maybe liked were not mutually exclusive. And I wasn't even remotely ready to sort it out, so for a long time, I just—didn't think about it. Didn't even go there. Wasn't interested. I spent a lot of time and effort getting my head together in other ways, figuring out who I was going to be, and sex just... wasn't a priority.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, lets it out.

“For a while, I didn't think sex was _ever_ going to be a priority, but eventually I got to a point where my body was interested but my mind wasn't up for it, and I had to start working on figuring shit out, because having a body that kept popping boners and a mind that wasn't ready to deal with them _sucked_. And it's been a process, figuring out what I'm actually into, and sorting that out from the stuff I remember.” 

Kyle makes a small, sympathetic noise, but Spooky's already changing gears.

“So anyway, here's where this sad story becomes relevant: at first, I couldn't just decide to rub one out whenever, because trying not to think about horrible things is like trying not to think about purple elephants, right? Power of suggestion: shazam, there they are. I had to let the sexy thoughts sneak up on me, and take advantage when the moment was right. So, like, I'd _notice_ that I was into something, and if I felt okay about it, then I'd just try to roll with it and focus on being into it in the present, without analyzing it or making it about some other thing. So I guess what I'm saying is, maybe don't pressure yourself to do it? Just, like, if you happen to be in the shower and something gets you going, try to just let it happen?

“I dunno, man. I'm not saying that I have some kind of magical solution for your trauma, or that I one hundred percent understand your issues and know how to fix them. And maybe everything I'm saying is bullshit and totally useless to you, but I fully believe that you can figure it out. You know, if you want to. I totally meant that thing I said about what people do with their junk and the content of their character. But if you want to put in the effort, I fully believe that you will someday be able to enjoy the pleasures of masturbation.”

There's a long pause while Kyle considers this. For a moment, Spooky thinks that he's just made it worse, but then Kyle cracks a smile and scoots over on the bed until they're sitting shoulder to shoulder. He's warm and solid, and Spooky feels tension bleed out of his spine that he didn't even know was there.

“Thanks,” Kyle says, finally. “I don't always want to deal with it, but I do really appreciate your advice, Spooky. It's like, I know I'm messed up, and sometimes I think that I'm doomed to be messed up forever, but you keep reminding me that it's possible to work through the bad shit and have an awesome life anyway. And I need that sometimes.”

Spooky shrugs, and their shoulders brush.

“Friends help friends. Amanda used to absolutely kick my ass when I was feeling sorry for myself. She'd show up after school and buy me ice cream, we'd start to chat, and next thing I knew, she'd be digging into my bullshit with laser precision. Best therapy I ever had, and I _hated_ it, but I wouldn't have ended up anywhere _near_ this awesome if I hadn't had her keeping me honest back then.”

Kyle glances over at Spooky in surprise. “You knew Amanda in high school?”

“She debriefed me when I came back from Hell,” Spooky says. “She brought me candy bars and read my mind, and she hasn't let me get away with a damn thing ever since.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don't know what would've happened if she hadn't been there then, but I figure I have some paying it forward to do. Not that I'm, you know, a terrifyingly insightful psychic or anything, but I work with what I've got.”

Kyle huffs a laugh at that.

“I think you do okay,” he says.

“Thanks. I try. And sometimes I end up acting like an asshole and pressuring my friends to do stuff they're not comfortable with, so I guess I win some and I lose some. So, uh, sorry about that.”

“It's okay,” Kyle says, and this time, he sounds like it might actually be okay. “I appreciate the thought. And I'm not gonna lie, I really, _really_ wanted it to work out. I have these _dreams,_ and then I wake up and the bed's smoldering, and I just _— argh._ ”

Spooky grimaces in sympathy.

“ _Argh_ sounds about right.” A thought strikes him, and he grins. “Want me to fireproof your bed? I can totally do that, it'll take like two minutes.”

“I'd appreciate that. Maybe not right now, but—”

“Why not? No time like the present.”

“Okay, I guess, but you don't have to.”

“My pleasure. Seriously, why haven't I already done this? I could have saved you _so many sheets_. I'll go grab some stuff and be right back, okay?”

It takes less than a minute for Spooky to duck into his room and grab what he needs, and when he gets back, it's the work of thirty seconds to apply the enchantment. Not that Spooky would mention it, but spells against hellfire are kind of a specialty of his.

“There you go,” he says, backing away from the bed and dusting his hands theatrically. “I should do the rest of the room too, but it's a start.” 

Kyle plays an experimental jet of flame over the edge of the bedspread.

“You'll have to try harder than that,” Spooky tells him, a little smugly.

“I don't _want_ to try harder than that,” Kyle retorts. “I don't actually want to set my bed on fire. But it would've already been singed by now. Thanks, man. I'll sleep a lot easier.”

“No problem,” Spooky means to say, but his voice cracks on a yawn. His head swims, and he finds himself blinking hard against fatigue—one spell too many for one night. “Speaking of sleep, though, it's like four in the morning. You about ready to hit the hay?”

Kyle swallows a yawn of his own. “I think so.”

“Then sleep well; I know I will. And hey,” Spooky adds, pausing by the door, strangely reluctant to leave. His shoulder is cold where Kyle isn't. “If you ever want some help, or some company, or someone to talk to, hit me up, okay?”

“Okay,” Kyle says, already burrowing under the covers. He rolls over to look at Spooky. “And seriously, thanks.”

“My pleasure. G'night.”

Spooky's room smells comfortingly of ozone and potion ingredients, and the textures of his bedding are familiar against his skin, but for some reason it seems awfully cold and dark. 

“Pull it together, Jones,” he mutters to himself, and rolls over in bed until he's comfortably cocooned in blankets. He's asleep before he gets around to wondering what exactly he's pulling together.

 

* * *

 

Maybe Spooky's imagining it, but Kyle seems more relaxed the next morning. Probably just a good night's sleep, and maybe the exam stress wearing off a bit, but Spooky likes to think that maybe he helped a little.  Friends help friends, after all.


End file.
